11 January 2011
Haiku Art Group
I joined an online haiku art group. Each month we are provided a word to serve inspiration for a haiku and an accompanying work of fiber art. For January (the first month of the group) the prompt was beginnings. You can view my contribution here.
03 January 2011
Seduced by Paint
I should've known it would come to this. I mean, I started quilting because I wanted to play with color and shape. It's true. There I was at the turn of the millennium, dissatisfied with my job in software documentation, completing those self-inventory worksheets to help me find my path in life. You know, the ones that ask you to think about your strengths and interests--what made you happiest as a child, which fictional character you most relate to--so that you can find the right career for you. At the top of my list was playing with color and shape but I didn't know what that meant.
Despite my deep and abiding love for my box of 128 crayons, art was never in the picture. Art seemed like something that other people did and I never thought it applied to me. Fom my vantage point I was left with two option for playing with color and shape: making stained glass or teaching pre-school. For some reason, both seemed like terribly dangerous options.
But then on a routine trip to the mall I discovered my life's passion. The local quilt guild was having an exhibit for National Quilting Day and filled the mall's center stage with an amazing exhibit of quilts of all types. I took one look and that was it. Before I left the mall I had committed to taking a beginning quilting class. Before the first class was over I was hooked. I became a quilter.
Quilting appealed to me because it was like one of my much loved coloring books: all hard edges and sharp forms and well-defined rules. Here you had a quilt block pattern and there you filled it in with fabric. Easy peasy. And in the beginning, that is what I loved: selecting a pattern, choosing fabrics, and then playing with different combinations of colors to fill in the shapes.
I soon discovered that I wasn't content to just use published patterns, so began designing my own. When standard techniques were insufficient to what I wanted to make, I learned new ones. My love for quilting was about more than playing with color and shape within a well-defined set of forms and rules--at the core of it was the desire to express myself. I had first defined myself as a traditional quilter, then as a contemporary quilter, but eventually realized that I had become a quilt artist.
Over the past summer, I ventured outside the lines even more and brought paint and glue and paper into my studio. It was a summer of risk and abandon; playing with bright tubes of thick acrylic paint, collaging reclaimed papers on old upholstery samples, mixing different colors to create my own. I became seduced by the possibilities of paint--how it softened hard edges, smoothed sharp forms, and ignored the rules. In essence, I was making my own fabric, albeit in a non-washable form.
Monday, December 27th, 2010 at 2:34 p.m. was the moment at which I realized where this all has lead. I was making pages in my visual journal using a brayer, gel medium, and pages of an old semiconductor catalog. I thought to myself "If I can get part of this done by March, I can use it in my quilt guild talk." A few beats later I realized that while I might see exactly how this journal with not one shred of fabric nor one stitch relates to my quilt art, it might not be the right direction to take for my talk.
It was one of those incandescent moments that I shall remember for the rest of my life. In one simple, glorious instant I realized that all art is equal. In my mind, there was no distinction between paint and stitch, between paper and fabric, between mixed-media collage and pieced quilts. All was expression, all was vision, all was art.
In that single, revelatory moment, I shed all the modifiers and qualifiers that I had carefully assigned in my self-definition. No longer would I have to self-consciously call myself a quilt artist, a fiber artist, or a textile artist. The bright light of realization sloughed those descriptors away and left standing alone an abiding awareness that resonated deep within. In that shining moment I realized that I am an artist, full stop, without hesitation, reservation, or qualification.
And now that I've shed those rules about what art sits in this category versus that category, I'll use whatever I can get my hands on to try to express my vision. Fabric, paint, stitch, paper, canvas, ink, glue--it's all the same to me, juicy fodder for creation.
Despite my deep and abiding love for my box of 128 crayons, art was never in the picture. Art seemed like something that other people did and I never thought it applied to me. Fom my vantage point I was left with two option for playing with color and shape: making stained glass or teaching pre-school. For some reason, both seemed like terribly dangerous options.
But then on a routine trip to the mall I discovered my life's passion. The local quilt guild was having an exhibit for National Quilting Day and filled the mall's center stage with an amazing exhibit of quilts of all types. I took one look and that was it. Before I left the mall I had committed to taking a beginning quilting class. Before the first class was over I was hooked. I became a quilter.
Quilting appealed to me because it was like one of my much loved coloring books: all hard edges and sharp forms and well-defined rules. Here you had a quilt block pattern and there you filled it in with fabric. Easy peasy. And in the beginning, that is what I loved: selecting a pattern, choosing fabrics, and then playing with different combinations of colors to fill in the shapes.
I soon discovered that I wasn't content to just use published patterns, so began designing my own. When standard techniques were insufficient to what I wanted to make, I learned new ones. My love for quilting was about more than playing with color and shape within a well-defined set of forms and rules--at the core of it was the desire to express myself. I had first defined myself as a traditional quilter, then as a contemporary quilter, but eventually realized that I had become a quilt artist.
Over the past summer, I ventured outside the lines even more and brought paint and glue and paper into my studio. It was a summer of risk and abandon; playing with bright tubes of thick acrylic paint, collaging reclaimed papers on old upholstery samples, mixing different colors to create my own. I became seduced by the possibilities of paint--how it softened hard edges, smoothed sharp forms, and ignored the rules. In essence, I was making my own fabric, albeit in a non-washable form.
Monday, December 27th, 2010 at 2:34 p.m. was the moment at which I realized where this all has lead. I was making pages in my visual journal using a brayer, gel medium, and pages of an old semiconductor catalog. I thought to myself "If I can get part of this done by March, I can use it in my quilt guild talk." A few beats later I realized that while I might see exactly how this journal with not one shred of fabric nor one stitch relates to my quilt art, it might not be the right direction to take for my talk.
It was one of those incandescent moments that I shall remember for the rest of my life. In one simple, glorious instant I realized that all art is equal. In my mind, there was no distinction between paint and stitch, between paper and fabric, between mixed-media collage and pieced quilts. All was expression, all was vision, all was art.
In that single, revelatory moment, I shed all the modifiers and qualifiers that I had carefully assigned in my self-definition. No longer would I have to self-consciously call myself a quilt artist, a fiber artist, or a textile artist. The bright light of realization sloughed those descriptors away and left standing alone an abiding awareness that resonated deep within. In that shining moment I realized that I am an artist, full stop, without hesitation, reservation, or qualification.
And now that I've shed those rules about what art sits in this category versus that category, I'll use whatever I can get my hands on to try to express my vision. Fabric, paint, stitch, paper, canvas, ink, glue--it's all the same to me, juicy fodder for creation.
14 December 2010
Serious Art for 2011
As each new year approaches I choose a theme to guide my path for the next twelve months. I find that themes are "kinder" than resolutions and provide a singular focus to guide my decision making. In the past, I've chosen themes like Mindfulness, Creative Personal Growth, and Say Yes.
For 2010, my theme was Bliss. This was an odd word to choose because it's not one that I use nor think about very often. Yet, when I was choosing a theme this time last year, Bliss popped into my head and wouldn't go away. So 2010 was the year of Bliss. My goal was to discover my Bliss, that thing in life that makes me jump out of bed each morning desperate to begin my day.
I never really defined what Bliss meant, nor what steps I would take to find my Bliss, which meant that 2010 ended up being a fairly scattered year. I didn't really have a plan for what I wanted to achieve. My only goal was to find my Bliss, whatever that may be. And looking back, I can see how that lack of a serious plan limited me. I don't have much to show for my year in art. There is no pile of completed projects in my studio or box of UFO's tucked in a corner. I'd be hard-pressed to name a significant piece of art that I completed in the first 10 months of the year.
But, the one thing I did do this year was play. I started making paper-cloth from fabric, torn paper, white glue, and acrylic paint as shown in Kelli Nina Perkins' Stitch Alchemy. This is where I found my Bliss, in spilling paint and tearing paper, in mixing colors and spattering ink, in making beautiful, saturated, rich paper cloth. And that's the one thing I have to show for this year: a wonderful selection of paper cloth.
Other than, I don't have much to show in terms of art accomplishments for 2010.
What I do have instead is internal--a complete transformation in how I think about art and myself as an artist. Since I started quilting 10 years ago, I knew that I loved playing with color and shape to make something beautiful out of nothing, but I never really embraced the word "art" to describe what I did. I would call myself a "quilt artist" or "fiber artist," but in a more self-conscious way. I'd call my sewing room my "studio" but feel kind of sheepish about it.
Realizing that art is my Bliss completely changed how I think about it all. Somehow, playing with paint and loving it gave me the freedom to see myself as an artist. I accepted, even embraced, that inner view of self as artist. And I have begun thinking about and creating art in a more serious way.
For 2011 my theme is Serious Art, which means approaching art in a deliberate and contemplative way and making sure that it becomes part of my daily routine (regardless of how hectic life seems). I'm developing a course of study for the year, for lack of a better term. My path for the coming year consists of the following steps:
For 2010, my theme was Bliss. This was an odd word to choose because it's not one that I use nor think about very often. Yet, when I was choosing a theme this time last year, Bliss popped into my head and wouldn't go away. So 2010 was the year of Bliss. My goal was to discover my Bliss, that thing in life that makes me jump out of bed each morning desperate to begin my day.
I never really defined what Bliss meant, nor what steps I would take to find my Bliss, which meant that 2010 ended up being a fairly scattered year. I didn't really have a plan for what I wanted to achieve. My only goal was to find my Bliss, whatever that may be. And looking back, I can see how that lack of a serious plan limited me. I don't have much to show for my year in art. There is no pile of completed projects in my studio or box of UFO's tucked in a corner. I'd be hard-pressed to name a significant piece of art that I completed in the first 10 months of the year.
But, the one thing I did do this year was play. I started making paper-cloth from fabric, torn paper, white glue, and acrylic paint as shown in Kelli Nina Perkins' Stitch Alchemy. This is where I found my Bliss, in spilling paint and tearing paper, in mixing colors and spattering ink, in making beautiful, saturated, rich paper cloth. And that's the one thing I have to show for this year: a wonderful selection of paper cloth.
Other than, I don't have much to show in terms of art accomplishments for 2010.
What I do have instead is internal--a complete transformation in how I think about art and myself as an artist. Since I started quilting 10 years ago, I knew that I loved playing with color and shape to make something beautiful out of nothing, but I never really embraced the word "art" to describe what I did. I would call myself a "quilt artist" or "fiber artist," but in a more self-conscious way. I'd call my sewing room my "studio" but feel kind of sheepish about it.
Realizing that art is my Bliss completely changed how I think about it all. Somehow, playing with paint and loving it gave me the freedom to see myself as an artist. I accepted, even embraced, that inner view of self as artist. And I have begun thinking about and creating art in a more serious way.
For 2011 my theme is Serious Art, which means approaching art in a deliberate and contemplative way and making sure that it becomes part of my daily routine (regardless of how hectic life seems). I'm developing a course of study for the year, for lack of a better term. My path for the coming year consists of the following steps:
- Work in a series. This fall I began a series that combines paper cloth with improvisational patchwork. I have two completed pieces and ideas for five others. I commit to completing at least nine pieces in this series. I am also remaining open to beginning another series if I am called to do so.
- Keep an art journal. Over the past year I have found a way to keep an art journal that captures everything I think, see, learn,and hear about art. I want to continue this process.
- Keep a sketchbook. This is a little different from an art journal. The emphasis is on improving observational skills--how I see the world--and expressive abilities--how I communicate what I see.
- Study artists. How do you look at an artwork and have a dialogue with it, with a focus on their expression through the elements of design and techniques of their medium? By developing an understanding of other artists' work I hope to improve the quality of my own work.
- Study process. Over the past year, I have been inspired by the blogs of Lisa Call, Elizabeth Barton, and Kathy Loomis, among others. They write very thoughtfully about the process of making art. Over the coming year, I'd like to expand out and read more about process from different artists in different media.
- Take a serious class or two. I've identified a couple week-long classes that I believe mesh with my goals, vision, and expressive voice. I want to commit to at least one and possibly both, if I can find the time and money.
- Identify shows or contests and submit work. This is probably the most intimidating goal on my list! I can see getting to the point where just making a piece and putting it in a pile with other finished works will not satisfy me, where I will need to get my work out in public and see what people think of it. I am not there yet, but if I can submit a piece or two this year, I might just learn that it doesn't actually hurt!
22 July 2010
On Kindness
I was quite sensitive as a child. I remember crying once while watching Tom and Jerry. Not only did I sympathize with Jerry the Mouse's constant struggle to foil the diabolical plans of Tom the Cat, but I also felt very compassionate towards Tom's suffering when he was unable to achieve his goal. I left the television to play outside because the show just seemed too cruel. Perhaps I was a bizarre child, but then I tend to believe that children generally are. It's what makes them fantastic.
Today I felt a little like that child again. I read several things on the internet that hurt my heart. They weren't especially cruel--no more than the typical joke at someone else's expense or a quick judgment offered out of frustration--but they struck me as decidedly unkind. Even though I didn't know the people involved, the comments made me feel sad. As I contemplated my sadness, I realized that I had been holding an unkind thought in my own mind. I opened my heart to compassion and let it go.
I searched online for some reading on kindness and found a new-to-me kindness quote that resonated deep within:
It reminded me of one of my favorite quotes:
Today I felt a little like that child again. I read several things on the internet that hurt my heart. They weren't especially cruel--no more than the typical joke at someone else's expense or a quick judgment offered out of frustration--but they struck me as decidedly unkind. Even though I didn't know the people involved, the comments made me feel sad. As I contemplated my sadness, I realized that I had been holding an unkind thought in my own mind. I opened my heart to compassion and let it go.
I searched online for some reading on kindness and found a new-to-me kindness quote that resonated deep within:
Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.
~Og Mandino
It reminded me of one of my favorite quotes:
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.And I decided that I just needed to share them.
~Plato
New Blog: Kim at SYAO
I've started a new Stitch Your Art Out blog called Kim at SYAO (catchy title, huh?), which is where you can find the latest news on what we're doing at the shop. So subscribe there to learn about new classes, samples, and fabrics, projects I'm working on for the shop, and even Block of the Month design secrets.
I'll reserve this blog for my musings on art, creativity, and mindfulness. Now that I've found my bliss, which sits a little outside what I am doing at the shop (although in my mind they are perfectly related and inseparable), I feel a need to draw a distinction. Even though I see the lines between what I do at the shop and what I create at home as blurred, I realize that not everyone will share that view.
So I'm happy to write two blogs to minimize the confusion and you can read one or the other or (hopefully) both!
I'll reserve this blog for my musings on art, creativity, and mindfulness. Now that I've found my bliss, which sits a little outside what I am doing at the shop (although in my mind they are perfectly related and inseparable), I feel a need to draw a distinction. Even though I see the lines between what I do at the shop and what I create at home as blurred, I realize that not everyone will share that view.
So I'm happy to write two blogs to minimize the confusion and you can read one or the other or (hopefully) both!
21 July 2010
It's as Simple as Bliss
Blog hiatuses always seem to require an explanation, but as I've been thinking about why I haven't blogged in 6+ months, I realized that my story is really of interest only to me, possibly my mother, and my future biographer (HA!). Suffice it to say that having stopped blogging, it was really hard to start up again. That darn inertia. (Being married to a physicist has its perks. I can blame my laziness on immutable laws of the universe.)
Unsurprisingly, my blogging hiatus coincided with an art hiatus, and it's only been the past couple weeks really where I have found myself slipping back into high gear, rather than trudging through the doldrums (and mixing my metaphors).
And now if you would indulge a seemingly tangential story, I promise you that it leads right back to the present.
A year ago (or more or less, my sense of time for this is distorted), I followed a link in an email to Christine Reed's blog, BlissChick, where she writes about discovering and truly living an artful life of bliss. The first post I read was on mindfulness, which is something that speaks to me deeply. I added her to my bloglines subscriptions, even though I thought the concept of living your bliss to be a little "hooey." But something niggled to me to subscribe and I did.
At the time, I was living a good, creative life. And it was a very good life. Co-owning Stitch Your Art Out with Cynthia surrounds me with creativity and community every day. It is a blessing to be able to share the joys of fiber art and craft with so many. At home, my husband encouraged me to work on my own fiber art and find my voice as an artist. And for a while I did, leading to the Bellefonte Exhibit and the Centre Pieces Quilt Show. But then I fell into a artistic slump and created nothing for months.
All the while, I kept reading Christine's blog, kept learning about how she found her bliss , and realized that something was missing. I was happy and comfortable, but where was my bliss? The question kept niggling at me. I knew I was ready to expand my life and move forward as an artist.
But what was my bliss?
I had an inkling it was in mixed-media. I liked the idea of blending paper and paint and stitch and cloth. For months I collected paints, books, and ideas. I surrounded myself with intentions and wielded my supplies like a totem, as though wishing and wanting are enough in themselves.
It took more courage than I realized to head into my studio and begin to create in this new media. I prepared some journal pages and some paper-cloth substrates. It took a couple days in this humidity before they were cured enough to work with. I started painting and inking and within minutes was enthralled in creative ecstasy. I learned to break the rules and find that I can create something beautiful from cloth and paper and glue and ink and paint and stitch.
Every day since then has been a revelation. I see the world in a completely different way. Everything seems possible now. I know that I'm still learning about this new method of expression. And I'm open to it for however long it takes.
I discovered who I am in a truly meaningful and life-altering way: I am an artist and I need to create. I had found my bliss.
I think back to that little niggling voice that compelled me to subscribe to Christine's blog even though I thought it was "hooey." It's like part of me knew that I needed to find my bliss. I kept reading because I was so compelled by her story. And by following her story, I came to understand the concept of bliss. That understanding changed my life: because in order to find something, you must first believe that it is real.
It really is as simple as bliss.
Unsurprisingly, my blogging hiatus coincided with an art hiatus, and it's only been the past couple weeks really where I have found myself slipping back into high gear, rather than trudging through the doldrums (and mixing my metaphors).
And now if you would indulge a seemingly tangential story, I promise you that it leads right back to the present.
A year ago (or more or less, my sense of time for this is distorted), I followed a link in an email to Christine Reed's blog, BlissChick, where she writes about discovering and truly living an artful life of bliss. The first post I read was on mindfulness, which is something that speaks to me deeply. I added her to my bloglines subscriptions, even though I thought the concept of living your bliss to be a little "hooey." But something niggled to me to subscribe and I did.
At the time, I was living a good, creative life. And it was a very good life. Co-owning Stitch Your Art Out with Cynthia surrounds me with creativity and community every day. It is a blessing to be able to share the joys of fiber art and craft with so many. At home, my husband encouraged me to work on my own fiber art and find my voice as an artist. And for a while I did, leading to the Bellefonte Exhibit and the Centre Pieces Quilt Show. But then I fell into a artistic slump and created nothing for months.
All the while, I kept reading Christine's blog, kept learning about how she found her bliss , and realized that something was missing. I was happy and comfortable, but where was my bliss? The question kept niggling at me. I knew I was ready to expand my life and move forward as an artist.
But what was my bliss?
I had an inkling it was in mixed-media. I liked the idea of blending paper and paint and stitch and cloth. For months I collected paints, books, and ideas. I surrounded myself with intentions and wielded my supplies like a totem, as though wishing and wanting are enough in themselves.
It took more courage than I realized to head into my studio and begin to create in this new media. I prepared some journal pages and some paper-cloth substrates. It took a couple days in this humidity before they were cured enough to work with. I started painting and inking and within minutes was enthralled in creative ecstasy. I learned to break the rules and find that I can create something beautiful from cloth and paper and glue and ink and paint and stitch.
Every day since then has been a revelation. I see the world in a completely different way. Everything seems possible now. I know that I'm still learning about this new method of expression. And I'm open to it for however long it takes.
I discovered who I am in a truly meaningful and life-altering way: I am an artist and I need to create. I had found my bliss.
I think back to that little niggling voice that compelled me to subscribe to Christine's blog even though I thought it was "hooey." It's like part of me knew that I needed to find my bliss. I kept reading because I was so compelled by her story. And by following her story, I came to understand the concept of bliss. That understanding changed my life: because in order to find something, you must first believe that it is real.
It really is as simple as bliss.
02 January 2010
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